


White Flag

by Tenukii



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Enemies to Lovers, Light Bondage, Love Confessions, M/M, Restraints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-28 21:52:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13912908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tenukii/pseuds/Tenukii
Summary: Captain Kylo Ren keeps capturing privateer Poe Dameron, and Dameron keeps escaping without giving up any information.  Why should this time be any different?





	White Flag

“Sir, we have captured Dameron.”  First Mate Hux paused before adding, “Again.”  Captain Kylo Ren glanced up from the documents at his desk, then went back to his reading without a reaction.

“Very well,” he muttered.  “I will be there momentarily.”  Only when the first mate had departed from his cabin did Ren sit back in his chair and heave a shaky breath.  “ _Finally_.  Incompetent fools. . . .”

Not that the privateer Poe Dameron was particularly easy to track down, or to apprehend.  Still, two whole months had passed since he last escaped Ren’s ship, and with the number of spies and soldiers at the captain’s disposal, one would think it shouldn’t take _that_ long to bring in a single man.

From a drawer, Ren took out the mask he nearly always wore in public and affixed it to his face before getting up from his desk.  The mask was an affectation which he felt added an air of authority and mystery to his bearing, as well as made him appear more intimidating.  At the least, it hid the slightly irregular facial features which affected his confidence.  He stalked out of his cabin to the tiny adjoining room where he sometimes held hostages for interrogation.  It had originally been intended for a storeroom, but it served its other purpose just as well.  Hux was waiting for Ren outside the door, and two of the ship’s burliest sailors were already guarding it—just like all the _other_ times Poe Dameron had been captured.  Not that the guards ever did much good.

“Is he already restrained?” Ren questioned the first mate.

“Yes,” Hux replied.  As before, he hesitated, then ventured, “Sir, if I may.  Perhaps a different method of interrogation is in order this time?  In all the times we’ve captured this man, we have never been able to hold him, or to get more than the smallest bits of information from him.”

Ren turned his masked face toward his inferior officer and growled, “Are you implying that I am not capable of besting this mercenary privateer _scum_?”

“No sir, of course not,” Hux replied smoothly, without showing the fear most of the other sailors felt for Ren..  “I only thought that perhaps if I and my men. . . roughed him up a little before you question—”

“And have the rumor spread that I need your help to handle my prisoners?  You’re fortunate I don’t have _you_ restrained and ‘roughed up’!” Ren scoffed.  “Go back to your post, and do not disturb me.  I will have what I want from him if it takes all night.”

“Yes sir,” Hux grumbled in a tone that was _almost_ insubordinate, but not quiet.  As Hux walked away, Ren turned to the two guards.

“You’re not to leave your posts until your relief comes at midnight,” he ordered them.  “Understood?”

When they nodded, Ren unlocked the narrow door and entered the small room within, then turned to shut and relock the door behind him.  Only he and the first mate had keys to the room, and Hux knew better than to enter without permission.  Ren remained facing the door until he had composed himself, and until his eyes had adjusted to the dimness of the space illuminated only by lantern light.  Then, finally, he turned to look over his prisoner.

Poe Dameron was the stuff of legends, not only in the nation whose government he served but also in Ren’s own country, and probably a dozen others besides.  He was an expert helmsman and navigator in his own right, and he inspired fierce loyalty in whatever crew served him.  He was intelligent and daring as well.  All of that would have been enough to ensure Dameron’s fame in ports far and wide, but it was his looks that made him the subject of talk in every tavern from one end of the coast to the next.  Every man wanted to be him, and every woman wanted to bed him, it was said—even though no person could ever be found who had actually accomplished such a feat.  Some rumors even held that Dameron was celibate since he’d never been known to patronize the services of any lady (or, for that matter, gentleman) of the night.  The more romantic folk claimed that Dameron was simply faithful to his true love—whoever and wherever she might be, since no one had ever actually seen the magnificent lady who could hold Poe Dameron’s heart.

Gazing through his mask at the privateer, Ren could understand why Dameron was so often a subject of conversation.  The man was, frankly, beautiful—not in an effeminate way, but the kind of beautiful one might hold up as the masculine ideal if Dameron had been a few inches taller.  Ren’s men had tied him up as usual, with ropes binding his waist, wrists, and ankles to a board, and his arms down and a little apart from his sides.  The board was tilted back at a slight angle, forcing Dameron to look down if he wanted to fix his wide, dark eyes on Ren.  He did so—although he wouldn’t be able to see Ren’s own eyes through the mask—with his lids half-lowered and long black lashes nearly obscuring his eyes’ glitter.  Ren knew that glare well enough; he’d seen it every other time Dameron had been captured.

The privateer’s hair was a little longer than the last time though, now falling in dark waves over his forehead and the back of his neck.  His olive-toned skin was darker too, as if he’d been out in the sun; it looked even browner in contrast to the loose, white shirt he wore.  The long sleeves were gathered at his wrists and trimmed with lace.  Although it was still tucked into his breeches, the shirt was open nearly to his waist, exposing Dameron’s chest which somehow remained scarless despite the battles and dangers he’d faced over his career.  But, Ren mused, he was still young—they both were—and there was plenty of time left for scarring.

That smooth chest was heaving with tense breaths as Dameron glared at him and tugged his wrists to pull at the ropes binding them.  Both men knew it would do no good, since if there was one thing Ren’s crew could do, it was tie knots.  If Dameron escaped this time, it would be through other means than wriggling out of his restraints.  Ren glanced down at Dameron’s ankles, just to make sure; then his eyes moved back up the privateer’s legs.  They were short but well-formed, which Dameron apparently knew since he was wearing exceptionally tight suede breeches.  This tightness was accentuated when he suddenly thrust his hips forward to strain against the rope at his waist.

Finally, though, Dameron gave up fighting his bonds, and the petit man’s body relaxed against the board at his back.  His eyes had never left Ren’s mask since the captain turned to face him.

“So?” Dameron spat.  “Who talks first?  You talk first?  I talk first?”

“Cocky little bastard,” Ren growled in a snarl that made his voice sound even deeper than usual.  He strode over to where the other man was pinioned.  “You already know what I want.”

“Do I?” Dameron taunted.  “Maybe you should tell me, just to be sure we’re on the same page.”

“Your list of assigned targets.  Which of our ships has your queen ordered you privateers to take?” Ren demanded.

“I won’t tell you,” Dameron replied.  He was able to lift his lovely eyes without breaking their gaze now that Ren was closer, and the corner of his mouth twisted in what was nearly a sneer.  “Just like I wouldn’t tell you where I hid the map, or the identities of my contacts, or—”

His words were cut off in a gasp as Ren’s gloved hand shot out and grasped Dameron’s throat—not tightly enough to choke the smaller man or hurt him, but firmly enough to show that he _could_.

“You will give me what I want,” Ren hissed.

“Nngh. . . .”  Dameron made a low noise in his throat as he tugged again at the ropes holding him down.  “Why should I?” he rasped despite the hand on his neck.  “I can’t even see your face.”

Ren flinched.  The movement was nearly imperceptible, but he knew Dameron would see it.  Nevertheless, he lifted his free hand to grasp the edge of his mask, and a flicker of anticipation danced through Dameron’s eyes.  Finally, Ren tugged the mask off and let it drop to the dusty floorboards beneath his feet.

The privateer’s gaze fixed on the smaller but equally dark eyes of his capturer.  Even though he was several inches taller, Ren had always felt dreadfully unattractive compared to Dameron, from the very first time he’d seen the privateer: his skin too pale, his nose too prominent, his dark hair too straight.  But if he had to unmask himself to get what he desired, then so be it.

“Now.  Your targets?”  His hold on Dameron’s throat had relaxed, and the privateer’s cockiness was returning.

“You should be more concerned with getting yourself a new crew,” Dameron taunted.  “It took your pathetic spies six weeks to find me, and your so-called _men_ a fortnight to catch me!”

“I know how long it’s been!” Ren snapped.  He tightened his hand, and Dameron’s breath caught.  And then, despite his predicament, the privateer smiled, showing the white of his teeth between his lips.

“You were getting desperate, weren’t you?” breathed Dameron.  “I can see it in your eyes, on your face.”

“Silence!” roared Ren.  “You dare to mock me?”

Dameron actually _laughed_.

“I’ll teach you to laugh at me!” Ren snarled, and his free hand shot up to grasp Dameron’s wavy hair, fingers clenching into the locks and forcing the privateer’s head back against the board to which he was tied.  Dameron’s laughter was interrupted as he inhaled in surprise. . . then it was cut off entirely when Ren crushed his lips against the privateer’s and thrust his tongue deep into his mouth.

The moan his kiss elicited from Dameron gave Ren a sensation like sparks of fire running through his veins.  Dameron fought back, but he fought with his tongue, trying to dominate Ren’s mouth as the larger man’s hand dropped from his throat to grip the privateer’s hip instead.  The fingers of Dameron’s captive right hand flicked inward, searching until they brushed Ren’s glove then grasping what they could reach of his hand.

“Two months,” Dameron gasped when Ren finally broke the kiss, pulling back a few inches to draw his breath.  The captain let go of Dameron’s hair to wipe the saliva from his own mouth with the back of his gloved hand; then he folded his fingers under the privateer’s chin and smeared the spit from Dameron’s lips too with his thumb.  Dameron’s eyes glowered up at him through those full lashes.  “Two damn months.”

“ _I’m_ not to blame!” Ren growled.  “Why did you hide so well?  I was beginning to think you didn’t _want_ me to find you.”

“If I didn’t want you to find me, you wouldn’t have,” the privateer snapped.  “I dropped clues left and right, but your foolish, incompetent spies kept missing them!  If I made it _easy_ on you, someone would catch on.”

“They will yet,” Ren groaned.  He shifted his hand from Dameron’s chin to the privateer’s hair and raked his fingers through the dark curls.  “It seems so obvious.  I capture you, you escape, I capture you again. . . and I never obtain the information I seek.”

“And yet every time, I give you exactly what you want,” murmured Dameron.  His pretty mouth was smiling again.  Ren stared at it with a look of near desperation, then kissed the privateer once more, hard.

“It’s never enough,” he whispered against Dameron’s lips, in between kisses.  “I can’t get enough of you.  Why do you have to be the enemy, damn you?  _Why_?”

“Why did you have to pursue me that first time?” Dameron returned.  When Ren stopped kissing his mouth, the privateer lifted his head as far as he could and began caressing the captain’s jaw, his chin, whatever his lips could reach.  “Why did you have to be a hero and _catch_ me?  If I’d never met you. . . .”

Ren drew back, and his eyes moved over the dark, handsome face before him before he murmured, “Poe. . . do you wish you’d never met me?”  The privateer’s lips parted, closed, then parted again in a miserable gasp as his eyes fell shut and he leaned his head back on the board with a thump.

Dameron groaned, “No.  God, no.  Even if you drive me mad—even if you didn’t let me escape this time, and hauled me in, and had me thrown in prison for the rest of my days. . . I wouldn’t regret it, Ben.  The very first night with you made it all worthwhile.”

The captain gazed at the tan neck now exposed by Poe’s tilted head.  He could see faint red marks where his fingers and thumb had grasped the privateer’s throat.

“I hurt you,” he muttered as he stripped off his gloves and stroked his white, bare fingertips over the spots.  “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.  It adds authenticity.”  Poe gave a hum of pleasure at Ben’s touch and leaned his head to one side to invite more caresses.  “If I came out of here with no bruises, people would talk.”  Ben drew his fingers up the side of Poe’s neck then replaced them with his mouth, first kissing then nipping at the smooth skin.

“They’ll talk anyway, sooner or later.”  He growled the words in between increasingly ardent caresses.  “Someone will. . . will realize. . . someday. . . .”  Ben grasped the collar of Poe’s open shirt and yanked it down off his shoulder before covering the privateer’s clavicle with bites and caresses.

“S-stop worrying,” Poe groaned.  “I’m here _now_ , so let me give you what you want—and give _me_ what I came here for.”

“Oh?  And what’s that?”  Ben had shifted his mouth from Poe’s neck and shoulder to his chest, trailing kisses down his breastbone and pushing his shirt farther open to brush the privateer’s nipples with his fingertips.  Poe whimpered and writhed at his touch.  The taller man knelt on the floorboards before the privateer and glanced up at him.  “Just to be sure we’re on the same page.”

“You,” Poe gasped, trying to arch his back against the board behind him.  “I came here for you!  Please. . . .”

Ben rested his forehead against Poe’s chest a moment, lips to his skin, as he tried to steady the tremble that was moving through him.  Then he resumed his caresses, sometimes kissing and sometimes biting and sucking until he raised bruises under Poe’s tanned skin.  He moved lower and kissed the privateer’s taut stomach that broke out in goosebumps when Ben’s mouth touched it.

Finally, Ben’s mouth reached the end of Poe’s exposed flesh, where the lowest few buttons of his shirt were fastened.  Ben drew back and grasped the fabric to yank it open, forcing the buttons completely off, before attacking Poe’s abdomen again with his mouth.

“You—you tore my shirt!” Poe protested in a tone he probably meant to sound affronted.  Instead, the words came out in a whimper of pleasure.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” Ben muttered against his skin.  He had come to the rope around Poe’s waist, and the captain paused his caresses to ease his knife out of its sheath.  He sliced through the rope close to the board at Poe’s back, then dropped the knife and shoved the rope aside.  It had left a light abrasion across Poe’s waist, and Ben kissed the marks before he began to undo the ties of Poe’s breeches.  “You were wearing these the first time I captured you,” he murmured.

“Yes,” Poe breathed, squirming more now that his waist was unbound.  “I remembered how much you like them.”

“I have a reason to like them.”  Ben finished with the ties but left the breeches up while he rubbed his hands instead over Poe’s thighs.  They felt firm like iron under the soft material.  “If they weren’t so tight, I might not have noticed how aroused you get when you’re tied up.”  He glanced up at Poe’s face with a smirk that only widened when the privateer tried to glare at him.

“I do not get aroused when I’m tied up,” Poe declared in a haughty tone.

“No?”  Ben slid his hand upward and closed it over the growing bulge at Poe’s groin.  “Then what’s this?”

“Nngh,” Poe groaned through clenched teeth.  “I. . . I get aroused when I’m tied up _and_ you’re so close to me.”  His voice wavered as Ben started to rub him through his breeches.  “That first time. . . hearing your deep voice, so demanding. . . you’re so tall, and your body seemed so strong. . . but I couldn’t see your face.  I _wanted_ to see it.  And finally, you took that mask off, and I saw your eyes and your mouth, and you were so _angry_ at me.”  His eyes had dropped closed in pleasure, and he was thrusting his hips forward rhythmically, pushing into Ben’s hand.  “God, you were so beautiful.  I wanted you. . . I wanted you.”

Ben was watching him, his breath coming harshly as he tried to comprehend how on earth this exquisite man could find _him_ beautiful, how he could possibly bring pleasure to someone like Poe Dameron.  And yet. . . .

“I saw it,” he murmured.  “I saw how much you wanted me.  And how could I deny you, when I wanted you just as much?”  His hand was moving faster now, pressing firmly in time to Poe’s thrusts.  “I thought you had satisfied me, but after I let you go—I wanted you again.  And again, and _again_.”

Poe gave a harsh moan and arched his back while he suddenly climaxed.  Ben wasn’t even sure if the privateer had heard his last words.  Poe collapsed back against the board until his ragged breathing slowed; then he opened his eyes and looked up at Ben as the captain got to his feet and brushed the dust from the knees of his black pants.

“Now you owe me a new shirt _and_ new breeches,” Poe panted.  Ben smiled, and the privateer’s eyes softened to see it.  Ben stroked Poe’s hair back from his face, then leaned in to kiss him slower but even deeper than before.

“Are you ready to come to my bed now?” Ben whispered when he drew back.  “I can’t get what I want from you when you’re tied up like this.  At least not easily.”

“Mmn, yes. . . .”  When Ben had sliced through the remaining ropes, Poe stretched his limbs and chafed his wrists where he had been bound.  He followed Ben through a very small door that connected the interrogation room to Ben’s own cabin—a door the captain had had put in for this very purpose.  Once in his cabin, Ben looked back at the door and frowned.

“I wonder if anyone actually believes I only wanted a discrete way to return to my quarters and rest during long interrogations,” he muttered.

Poe laughed, “I think people will believe whatever is most likely—and that’s more likely than you wanting to take your prisoner to your bed.”  He lay back on that same bed and looked up at the captain.  “Come here. . . .”

Ben went to him, shedding his coat and starting to remove his own shirt on the way.  Their progress in undressing was impeded by kisses, and soon Ben was lying on his back with Poe on top of him caressing his neck, both of them still wearing their breeches.

“Ben. . . ,” Poe moaned as Ben’s hands moved over his hips, trying to tug his breeches down.  Abruptly, Poe lifted his head and looked down at the captain.  The privateer’s eyes were dilated with renewed lust, but there was something else in them too.  “Ben, I love you,” he whispered.  Ben stared at him, feeling like the blood was draining from his face in waves.

“You love me,” he stated from a suddenly dry mouth.

“Yes.”

Everyone who had ever served under Captain Ren quickly learned to fear his wrath, and wrath was almost what he felt then.  He barely managed to constrain it, and only gave a harsh, bitter groan.

“What in the hell do you hope to accomplish by telling me _that_?  That you _love_ me.”

Poe’s pupils had contracted, but otherwise, his expression hadn’t changed.  There was no hope or expectation there, but no fear or concern either.  He only looked resigned, and a little sad.

“Nothing.  But I wanted you to know.”  Poe didn’t move except to be raised and lowered by the force of Ben’s rapid breathing beneath him.  Yet Ben could feel the tension in the smaller body above him, Poe’s readiness to withdraw if Ben wanted him to go, readiness to flee if necessary.  To flee like he would inevitably flee the next morning, like he had every other morning after the nights they spent together.

When Ben said nothing more, Poe went on, “You would have already known, if you weren’t so—so _blind_.  Why do you think I keep coming back to you?  Why do you think I save myself—I waited two _months_ so I could give myself to you, only to you.”  His whole body slumped then, and he hung his head over Ben’s chest as if he could hardly hold it up.  “They say I stay faithful to the great love of my life—well, it’s true.”

“Oh God, you fool,” Ben breathed.  “You. . . you beautiful little _fool_.  Why did you have to tell me that, _why?_   You won’t stay with me.  You’ll leave me, just like every other time, and go back to your queen and your country and all the secrets you can’t tell me because we’re enemies.  I thought—I thought you came to me because I please you.  Not because you—you love. . . .”  He might have kept rambling had a sob not threatened to break free from his throat.  Ben clenched his jaw to hold it in and closed his eyes, but he felt tears seep through his lashes anyway.

“If you thought that’s why I come to you—why do _you_ continue to pursue me?” Poe muttered.  “Just because I _please_ you?”  The inside of Ben’s throat felt like it had been seared with a hot brand, but he couldn’t let Poe believe that.

“ _No_ ,” he rasped, choking on the word.  Poe lifted his head at the pain evident in Ben’s voice, and Ben felt the smaller man’s fingertips trying to brush away his tears.

“Ben. . . .”  Poe shifted on him, moving up until he could put his mouth to Ben’s temples and kiss the tears off instead.  He begged, “Please, don’t weep.  I didn’t want that.”

Ben lifted his hands to Poe’s shoulders, intending to push him away, but he only slid his arms around the smaller man’s back and pulled him closer.  Poe’s soft lips on his skin gave way to the hot wetness of his mouth as he began to caress Ben’s face with greater ardor.

“Ben, please,” he murmured.  “Do you love me?  Do you love me too?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Ben groaned.  “Of course I love you, damn us both to hell!  I love you, and being apart from you nearly kills me.”  He finally opened his eyes to meet Poe’s when the privateer paused his kisses.  Ben lifted a hand from Poe’s back to stroke his dark hair and the side of his face.

“But you’re not apart from me,” Poe whispered.  “I’m here, now, so love me.”  He lowered his head to kiss Ben’s mouth, first slowly then with growing passion as Ben thrust his tongue up to meet Poe’s.  When Poe drew his head back again to gasp, “Please, Ben, make love to me!” Ben’s hands dropped to his hips once more.

\--

Early the next morning, soft kisses on Ben’s face awakened him.  He was still tired, but that was a minor discomfort compared to the pain he felt in his heart after the first few seconds of delight at waking up with Poe in his bed.  It was a familiar pain, the way he always felt when Poe awoke him to say goodbye.

Ben opened his eyes and looked up into the handsome face turned down toward him.  Poe looked tired too, with circles under his eyes a shade darker than his normal skin tone, but he was still beautiful.  So beautiful.

“Is it time already?” Ben murmured.  “I’ll. . . I’ll have to think of how you managed to cut your ropes.  I should have untied them. . . .”  Poe’s lips curled in a smile as he lowered his head to drop more kisses on Ben’s forehead and nose.

“Tell the truth,” Poe mumbled.  “Say _you_ cut them.”

“Hmph.  And why would I cut your ropes, knowing what a knack you have for escaping?”

“Because.”  Poe’s mouth shifted to Ben’s temple and traced a path down his cheek.  “I gave you what you wanted.”  Ben gave a little moan of affirmation to that statement, but Poe kept talking.  “I told you every last one of the planned targets after I defected and swore my loyalty to you—or, I suppose you had better say to your nation.  That might go over better.”

“Poe— _what_?”  Ben grasped Poe’s head in his hands and held it so that he could stare at the privateer.  “What are you. . . .”  His words trailed off, and he simply gazed at his lover.

“Do you love me?” Poe whispered.

“Yes.”  Ben’s heartbeat quickened.  “I love you, Poe.”

“Then I won’t leave you again.  I _can’t_.  I can’t be your enemy anymore.”  Poe’s dark eyes flicked away from Ben’s as he drew a shaky breath, then looked back again.  “I only did what I did for the adventure of it, not out of any great love for my country.  And what _we’ve_ been doing—it was an adventure too, but then I fell in love with you.  Now, now that I know I can have your heart, if I stay. . . .”  He gave a little shrug of his tan shoulders.  “Nothing else matters.”

“Poe. . . .”  Ben drew Poe’s head closer and kissed his lips softly.  “You do have my heart, I promise.  Oh God, Poe. . . .”  He kissed the smaller man over and over, mumbling in between caresses, “You’ll stay with me, truly?  You won’t leave me?”

“I’ll stay, my love, I’ll stay,” Poe breathed.  He drove his fingers into Ben’s long hair and stroked it back onto the pillow behind the captain’s head.  The larger man beneath Poe stared up at him with an irrepressible smile on his mouth, the smile Poe vowed he loved but saw all too infrequently.

Poe smiled too, but then his brow furrowed, and he asked, “Will. . . will I be safe?”  At Ben’s puzzled expression, he clarified, “I mean. . . your government, will they want to arrest me?  I meant what I said about not regretting you even if I went to prison, but—well, I would prefer not to.”  Despite Poe’s playfulness, Ben could see true concern in his eyes.

“You’ll be safe.  I’ll _keep_ you safe.”  Ben leaned up to kiss Poe’s forehead, trying to smooth the worried wrinkles.  “Believe me, if you really will give us the target list and help us protect our ships, you’ll likely get a reward, not a prison sentence.  But in any case, I’ll vouch for you—for your loyalty and your honor.  You. . . you’ve shown both to me.”

“I’ll give you the list and anything else you want to know,” Poe promised.  “My contacts and—”

“No, don’t.  Only the list.”  Ben pulled Poe down to lie against his chest while he ran his fingers through the smaller man’s dark curls.  “And that only because it will keep you safe.  I don’t want anything else from you, just _you_.”  He smiled as he wrapped one lock of hair around a finger.  “Although. . . with your skill at sailing, I think you might be a valuable addition to my crew.”

“In that case, I’ll consent to join you.  I guess if I’m out here making myself useful—and where you can keep an eye on me—they’ll be less likely to want to arrest me,” Poe chuckled.  Ben felt Poe’s breath on his chest as the privateer— _former_ privateer whispered, “I can be a lot of trouble though.  You might still need to tie me up sometimes.”

Ben gave a low moan.  “I. . . I might.”

Poe shifted on top of him, raising his torso up on his elbows, and began to rub against Ben slowly as he looked down at him.

“Do we have to get up yet, if I’m not going to escape?” Poe whispered.

“No.”  The word came out in a harsh gasp.  “You can—can defect in a few hours.”

“Mmn.”  Poe ground his hips against the larger man’s a little faster.  “Then we can sleep a little longer.  But first, make love to me again, Captain.  _Interrogate_ your prisoner.”

\--

The End


End file.
